


launch date

by voltron_is_mine_now



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Beezer - Freeform, Canon Rewrite, F/F, F/M, Keith and Lance go on a date, Lance's family is amazing, M/M, Multi, Rewrite of "Launch Date", and tons of rewatching, episode 1 season 8 of vld, lots of fluff, their friends help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 17:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltron_is_mine_now/pseuds/voltron_is_mine_now
Summary: “Ack!” Lance exclaims. He stumbles between Keith and Acxa and turns around, immediately nervous. His face reddens. “Uh, actually, I was wondering if—maybe, if you want to, you could have dinner with me tonight? And my family. Dinner with me and my family?”Behind Keith and Acxa—both looking perplexed—Hunk flashes him two thumbs up.“My mom’s cooking for our last night together,” Lance adds. His stomach is churning with nerves. “I—I just thought you could join us.”Keith’s face is bright red, and Lance, for a split second, thinks he’s going to say no. He’s been turned down so many times, he wouldn’t be surprised. “I—” Keith stammers. “I—erm—are you—”Acxa elbows Keith sharply in the shoulder. “Say yes, you idiot,” she hisses, loud enough that Lance is pretty sure the entire hallway can hear her.⸻⸻⸻⸻Rewrite of Season 8 episode "Launch Date" ft. Klance





	launch date

**Author's Note:**

> -everything is the same as in the episode "Launch Date" except it's Keith instead of Allura and there are some character switches  
> -the rest of s8 does NOT follow this episode  
> -most dialogue was taken from the episode itself  
> -enjoy!!!!! KICK

Pidge stares at the screen, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her hair is scraped up into messy pigtails, and Bae Bae lies beside her, gnawing on a chew toy that squeaks with each bite.

On the screen, Voltron’s sword glints as it fends off the attack of some giant space lizard with huge teeth and a bigger tongue. The green paladin of Voltron—the character based off  _ her _ —exclaims, in a high, off-key, extraordinarily annoying voice, “Hoooold it! I’m getting all shook up!”

Pidge wrinkles her nose and quirks an eyebrow. Turning to Bae Bae, she asks, “I don’t really—sound like that, do I, Bae Bae?”

Bae Bae makes a doggy grumbling noise, half whine and half growl, as he turns to stare at the screen. Pidge sighs and turns back to the screen.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

In the Garrison kitchen, Lance watches from the doorway as Hunk turns to his mom, resting his elbow on a box on the counter. 

“Alright,” he says, giving a big smile. Lance would smile too, if he could help it. Hunk has been so much happier since he’s been back on Earth—playing with his little siblings, cooking with his mom and doing engineering stuff with his dad. “That’s all of it.”

“Here’s all our family recipes. And  _ this  _ is something special just for you,” Hunk’s mom says, handing two boxes to Hunk. Hunk’s mom is a kind lady, with smile wrinkles under her eyes and the curly hair Hunk didn’t inherit. Lance likes her.

Hunk peels off the top of the box, and Lance watches as the steam wafts up from inside. Hunk’s eyes sparkle as he inhales through his nose. Even from over here, the scent is heavenly; Lance can only imagine what it’s like in front of the box. “Banana cake! Mom, you’re the best!”

“Well, your father and I are just so proud of you,” Hunk’s mom says. “Saving the universe and all.” The opposite door of the kitchen slides open, and Hunk’s parents leave through it, Hunk’s dad’s arm around his mom. “We love you!” Hunk’s mom calls, giving him a little wave.

Lance takes that as his cue to step into the kitchen. He sits at one of the metal picnic tables and mournfully stirs the contents of a random Garrison mug—tea? Coffee? Water?—with a teaspoon. 

Hunk sits down opposite him, giving him a smile like he knows what Lance is thinking. He usually does. “Launching tomorrow,” Hunk says. “The big day.” He puts a hand on his forehead, grinning. “It seems like it was forever ago when we piled into the Blue Lion and blasted out into space.” He has a wistful look on his face, mingling with his smile. He spreads his hands. “Man, we had no idea what we were getting into!”

“Yeah,” Lance says, quietly. He stares determinedly at the mug, still stirring it. 

Hunk keeps talking, like he thinks his enthusiasm might infect Lance and make him pep up. “But now it’s different. We’ve seen it all. We’re rugged veterans now, going back into battle one last time.”

“Mm, yup,” Lance says. He doesn’t look at Hunk.

Hunk takes his hand from where it had been wildly gesturing in the air and puts it under his chin. “Guess that makes us heroes or something? Like, the type of heroes that would have their own TV show!” He laughs. “Did you watch it, Lance? Ah, it’s so cool! It’s so cool. They got you spot-on, but Coran is, like, he’s all super serious and stuff. And Allura is a little… I don’t know, she’s different. And Keith is friendly!” He puts his hands over his stomach and laughs. “He’s happy all the time. I mean, they got it so wrong. Plus, I think they’re hinting at some romance between him and Allura.”

Lance’s eyes widen, and before he knows exactly what he’s doing he’s dropped the teaspoon and has both hands planted on the table, shoving himself to a standing position. “WHAT?!” Lance exclaims, staring directly at Hunk. “Keith and Allura? No, it should be Keith and  _ Lance!” _

“Ooh, a love triangle,” Hunk says, looking at Lance. Somehow, remarkably, he hasn’t gotten the point yet. Or he thinks Lance is kidding. He pulls up a hand and makes a finger gun at Lance. “I like where you’re taking this.”

Lance’s face falls, and he sits back down, crossing his arms on the table. He frowns. “No, no, it’s not about that,” Lance says, slowly.

“Wait, that’s right,” Hunk says. He looks like he’s finally realizing what Lance is talking about. “You said you were gonna ask Keith on a date!” Hunk’s face is finally serious—grave, actually, and worried. “You asked him, didn’t you? Oh, and he said no.” He laughs, though it’s more somber than anything. “Oh. Oh, man. Here I am, rubbing your face in it—”

“He didn’t say no,” Lance interrupts. “I… well, I never asked him.”

Hunk’s eyes are wide. “You chickened out?” he exclaims.

Lance holds out a hand; he’s trying to gesture the story and do as little talking as possible. “I was  _ going _ to ask him, but he’s been spending, like, every day in the med bay with Adam. I just—I thought it would be better to let him have his family for a while. Maybe—maybe this just isn’t the right time.”

“No, Lance—what?” Hunk says, gripping the edge of the table. He looks incredulous. “It’s the  _ only _ time. After tomorrow, we’re back out in space fighting the Galra. There is no other time, literally.” His face sets; it’s determined, an expression Lance usually never likes to see on Hunk, because he usually wears it when he’s chewing Lance out for not cleaning his room or the kitchen or his clothes. “You’re asking him today, and that is final, young man.”

Lance’s eyes widen. He knows Hunk will hold him to it.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

In the Garrison meeting room, Lance sits, frowning, at the long table as Shiro speaks. 

“Everyone, welcome to our final briefing here on Earth,” Shiro says. Lance still isn’t used to his arm. It just—floats in midair. It’s so  _ weird. _ “It’s been several months since we began to rebuild, and tomorrow we launch and continue our liberation efforts across all planets still under Galra rule. Commander Holt, what’s the latest from your team?”

Pidge’s dad—Commander Holt, Lance corrects himself, though he still doesn’t think of him that way—says, “We’ve confirmed that there’s still no Galra activity within several galaxies of the Milky Way. It appears Earth was Sendak’s only target.”

_ Sendak. _ The name still makes a trickle of fear and disgust curl through Lance. He grimaces and tries to listen, though he’s never been good at this kind of thing. He’s not allowed to pace the back of the room. He’s not even allowed to stim, which is fucking  _ unfair, _ but Iverson won’t budge about the rule.

“Where are we with Earth’s defenses?” Shiro asks Keith.  _ Keith. _ His hair drapes his shoulders when he speaks, and Lance  _ really _ can’t concentrate now, dammit, Keith. Ugh.

“I’ve finished my check-in with all the Garrison facilities around the globe,” Keith says. “All defenses are up and running. Earth has everything in place to keep itself safe.”

“Great,” Shiro says. He turns to Veronica. “And Atlas preparations?”

“Repairs to the IGF-Atlas were completed early last week”—Veronica sounds like she’s reading a blank script—“and it has since passed every test protocol we’ve put it through.”

“I have one more item to discuss,” Shiro says. Lance blinks, confused. What is he talking about? “It’s our last night on Earth, and we’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us. We may not be back home for years. So I’m ordering you…” He pauses, then smiles when he speaks. His eyes are bright, much kinder than the clone’s. “To take some time for yourselves. Be with the ones you love. You’ve earned it.”

As the meeting disperses, Lance leaves the room and looks around. Keith is walking down the hall, laughing at something Acxa is saying. Hunk peers out of the meeting hall helpfully. “Hey, uh, Keith?” Lance asks. 

Both Keith and Acxa stop and turn around to face him. “What is it, Lance?” Keith asks. His head is tilted to the side like a confused puppy, and Lance curses his own heart for being so weak.

Lance clasps his hands behind his back. “Oh, nothing much. Just, uh, checking in. So, how are things?”

Keith blinks, and then a smile overtakes his face, so sudden and soft Lance is taken aback. “I’m gonna check on Adam,” he says, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ve actually gotta be going, if that’s okay. Sorry.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Okay,” Lance blurts, looking at the floor. “Um, well, I don’t want to keep you, so…” 

Keith is already turning away. He walks off down the hall. Lance sighs, looking at the floor. He turns around to head back down the hallway, but Hunk is there, his arms crossed and his expression scarily like Iverson’s. He takes his hand, places it on top of Lance’s head, turns him around, then plants his boot in the middle of Lance’s lower back and kicks him toward where Keith and Acxa are walking.

“Ack!” Lance exclaims. He stumbles between Keith and Acxa and turns around, immediately nervous. His face reddens. “Uh, actually, I was wondering if—maybe, if you want to, you could have dinner with me tonight? And my family. Dinner with me and my family?”

Behind Keith and Acxa—both looking perplexed—Hunk flashes him two thumbs up.

“My mom’s cooking for our last night together,” Lance adds. His stomach is churning with nerves. “I—I just thought you could join us.”

Keith’s face is bright red, and Lance, for a split second, thinks he’s going to say no. He’s been turned down so many times, he wouldn’t be surprised. “I—” Keith stammers. “I—erm—are you—”

Acxa elbows Keith sharply in the shoulder. “Say yes, you idiot,” she hisses, loud enough that Lance is pretty sure the entire hallway can hear her. 

Keith blinks. “Um. Yes. Yeah, that—that would be nice.”

Lance is taken aback for a moment. “Really?” he blurts. “Awesome! Dinner tonight. Us. Yes.” He flashes finger guns at Keith, then pumps a fist in triumph.

Hunk sidles over to Lance, puts an arm around his shoulders, and hisses in his ear, “Okay, Loverboy Lance. Now walk away before he changes his mind.” 

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Keith walks into the kitchen, where Hunk and Pidge are standing, scrolling through their respective tablets. Romelle, who’s decided that she’s going to be his wingwoman today, pokes her head around the door, watching. “Hey, guys, do you have a minute?” Keith asks.

“Sure,” Hunk says, setting down the tablet. Pidge’s head perks up, watching him. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Keith says. “You know—I have—”

“He has a date!” Romelle exclaims, gesturing wildly with her hands. “With Lance!” She drapes an arm over Keith’s shoulder, leaning on him. Romelle, Keith has learned, is a very touchy kind of person. “Where are proper courting vestments obtained on your planet?”

“I was hoping—maybe you could help me pick out an outfit,” Keith says. “I don’t—I don’t really own anything nice.”

Hunk brightens. “Of course, dude!” he exclaims. “Let’s go! We’ll take Nadia and Ina too, they’ve mentioned wanting to check out the mall.”

“I’m not really one for shopping,” Pidge says, “and I’m under house arrest with Mom, but I’ll see if I can negotiate something.” She smirks. “I can’t believe Lance actually did it. You’ve been crushing on each other since at least the beginning of time.”

Keith’s cheeks color, but he relaxes. With them there, things can’t be that bad.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Keith has changed his mind. Even with them here, things  _ can _ be that bad. 

After one long car ride shoved into the backseat of a car (with Nadia Rizavi driving, which is about as safe as skydiving without a parachute) Keith stares down the mall like it’s a robeast about to attack.

“Okay!” Nadia exclaims, turning around to face them with her hands on her hips. “Operation “Find Keith a Date Outfit” is go. We’re gonna take it one store at a time till we come out of this place successful.” She spins around and points down the mall corridor. “Let the hunt begin!”

Keith frowns, staring at the stalls as he walks. Nothing. Nothing. Knives. Nothing. No clothing shops at all. He’s starting to think this was a bad idea.

Nadia walks beside him. She’s grinning broadly, a bright (and somewhat manic) light in her eyes. She sighs. “I love shopping. Don’t you, Keith?”

“It’s a primal urge from when collecting and gathering was a means of survival,” Ina interjects.

Nadia turns her face to the ceiling. “It just calms me. Like skydiving. Now come on, I’m gonna shop this mall so hard.” She pumps a fist. Keith does not dignify her statement with a response.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Lance stands, heart thumping in his chest, outside of Coran’s room. He looks at the floor, sighs out a breath. Then he raises his fist and knocks; once, twice, thrice.

The doors slide open to reveal Coran, inspecting some sort of blue garment. “Oh, Lance!” he exclaims. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Lance walks inside, finding his nerves soothed by Coran’s familiar voice. Coran has always been kind, if a little eccentric. “Hey, Coran. I wanted to ask you about Keith.”

“Sure, what is it?” Coran asks. “I know that number four the best out of all of you—like the back of my hand!” He holds up his hand just to drive in the point. He tweaks his mustache. “Except for maybe Shiro. And Adam. And Krolia. And—anyway, what do you need?”

“Right, yeah,” Lance says. “Well, I’m going on a date with him tonight—I think it’s a date? I’m not sure—and—”

Coran’s face morphs—relax and wisdom to total shock. His eyes as round as saucers—he thrusts his face into Lance’s, practically spitting in fury. “What? Did you even acquire permission from his primary guardian?”

“Who’s that?” Lance asks. It seems like the best way to take Coran’s angry attention off of him.

Coran frowns and rubs his chin with a hand. “Well, Krolia is, I assume—but we’ll say I am for now!”

Coran shoves Lance out of the room.

“Now, count to zingor, then knock!” Coran orders. 

“But Keith already said—” Lance protests, but Coran listens to none of it. The doors shut behind him, and Lance is alone. Again.

There are tools whirring and buzzing from the other side of the door. Lance clears his throat and exhales; he’ll assume zingor has passed by now. He raises a fist and knocks.

The doors slide open, and Lance is struck speechless. There’s a portrait of a younger-looking Coran and Alfor hung above a fireplace Lance could’ve sworn wasn’t there before, and a thick rug, and a purple armchair facing the fireplace. Soft piano music is playing.

The armchair turns around, and there is Coran, in an Altean bathrobe and gnawing on the edge of a pipe that is not lit. “Ah, Lance,” he says, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Please, have a seat.”

Lance sits on the foot-tall ottoman, because there’s nothing else to sit on, and faces Coran. Coran puts the pipe back in his mouth and blows; apparently it  _ does  _ do something, because bubbles floats from the opening.

“Exactly what makes you think you’re qualified for such a prestigious position?” Coran asks. “For example, who are your references?”

“Position? References?” Lance asks. There’s sweat running down the side of his face from being this close to the fire, though Coran looks unaffected. “What are you talking about?”

Coran leans until he’s staring Lance in the face, still holding the weird pipe. “You see, I’ll need at least two notarized certificates of commendation speaking of your greatness from reliable sources before I’ll even consider giving you my approval. And…” He laughs. “You must do something about that outfit.” He gestures at Lance’s Garrison uniform. “Altean courting vestments are essential. Seeing as we’re not on Altea, we’ll just have to make do.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻

“Oh, I have a good feeling about this place,” Nadia says, grinning as she peers at the thrift shop.

“This is the  _ only _ place we’ve found,” Keith points out. 

Nadia ignores him. “Keith, leave this to us. People, divide and conquer!”

There are a lot of clothes. Racks and racks of shirts, pants, shoes, and accessories in every color of the rainbow—and then some. Hunk and Romelle grin at Keith from behind a rack, holding up shirts. Keith steadfastly ignores them. Shopping is not his forte.

Nadia steers Keith into the changing room and shoves an outfit into his hands. Keith begins to protest, then looks at the clothes and sighs.

When he comes out, Hunk is trying in vain to hold back and snicker and Romelle erupts into giggles. “Ta-da!” Nadia exclaims, gesturing at him. 

Looking down at himself, Keith sighs. He’s wearing an athletic onesie made of polyester, in an awful shade of green. “Okay, this is a no,” he says. 

The next outfit, Ina leans an arm on his shoulder and proudly turns to the others. They’re all making the same face—wrinkled brows, hands on chins. Nadia facepalms. Keith shifts awkwardly in the tuxedo, which is white and pink and, quite honestly, hideous. “No,” Hunk says, ever practical.

Romelle hands him an outfit. Keith unfolds it, glances at it, then looks up to meet her wide, innocent eyes and says, “No.”

Pidge’s outfit choices—well, Keith will just say she wanted him to wear a replica of the god-awful outfit he wore in the Voltron show. He doesn’t even try it on; he resists slicing it into pieces, honestly, because it’s  _ that ugly. _ Pidge looks disappointed.

Finally— _ finally _ —Hunk throws a bundle of clothing at him. Thank god for people with actual fashion sense. Keith leaves the changing room and awkwardly stands there while they evaluate him, scrutinizing every detail.

Nadia puts her hands on her hips, looking proud. “I think we’ve done it,” she says.

Keith is wearing a jacket—cropped, he notices, though not so much as his other one—in various shades of gray and red over a white t-shirt and grey (skinny, dear god, Hunk) jeans, along with combat boots. For once, he doesn’t feel like digging his own grave and burying himself wearing the outfit. Hunk flashes him a thumbs-up, smiling.

Keith changes, and Nadia drops the outfit on the countertop, smiling.

The shop owner turns and smiles. Keith starts. It’s an Unilu, not unlike the one who’d tried to steal his knife. “Well, hello there,” the Unilu says, waving with one of his four arms. “Is this everything?”

“Yep,” Nadia says. “Mission complete.”

The Unilu smiles for one more second than is absolutely necessary, then plucks up the first piece of clothing with one hand and a scanner in the other. “Let’s see, what have we got? A decorative tarp, another decorative tarp with long sleeves, two straight cylinders of cloth connected at the waist, one foot container and its mirror match.” A receipt spurts out from the scanner, at least three feet long for each item he rings up. “That’ll be one phoeb of servitude from your large friend there.”

“What?” Nadia exclaims. “A year?”

“A month,” Hunk says, giving her a dry look. “I got this.” He waves a hand, then flashes a dopey grin. Keith cringes. “How about you give us all of this and I give you an autograph from a world-famous paladin of Voltron?” 

The Unilu stares at him blankly, then exclaims, “No! Price just went up to three phoebs.”

Romelle has a thoughtful expression on. She says, beaming, “I can bake you a deca-phoeb’s worth of blomfruit pies. I just need blomfruits! You wouldn’t happen to sell any, would you?”

The Unilu shopkeeper slams two of his hands down on the counter. “Shipping will cost you a deca-phoeb of servitude alone!”

Romelle is grimacing. Keith frowns. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he says. “I don’t need the outfit. Let’s just go.” He tries not to let his disappointment infect his voice. Keith turns and strides away from the counter, clenching his fist and rubbing his thumb over the side of his index finger.

The others turn, looking sad, and walk after him. 

The Unilu must see something he likes, because he exclaims, “Wait! I’ll give you a friendly deal. You can have  _ all _ this, in exchange for the headband of the big one, signed.” To himself, though they can all hear him, the alien says, “It’ll probably sell for millions of GAC!”

Hunk hesitates. His hand comes up to touch his headband.

“Hunk, you don’t have to do that,” Keith says, frowning. He doesn’t know what that headband means to Hunk, but if it can make him look like that, it must be pretty important. “I’ll just—figure something out.”

Hunk blinks, then shakes his head. He reaches up to untie it. “I need a pen,” he says. “To sign it.”

Ina produces a Sharpie, and Hunk signs his name with a flourish. He sighs as he hands it over to the shopkeeper, who rapidly throws everything into a bag and thrusts it at Hunk.

Hunk sighs as he turns away, and then yelps as Keith tackles him in a hug.

Now, Keith is not a huggy person. The opposite, actually. He really, really does not like hugs. But he tries to transmit his thankfulness into this one as he squeezes Hunk as tight as possible. “Thank you, Hunk,” Keith says.

Hunk laughs. He looks strange without his headband. “Dude, you suck at hugs.”

“Rude,” Keith says, drawing back. He smiles at Hunk, though. He’s surprised at how much he’s smiled today. “Um, not to intrude, but—why did you wear that headband, anyway?”

“Oh.” Hunk laughs. “When I was twelve, I got really into Hamilton and my favorite character was Hercules Mulligan.  _ Tamā  _ bought me the headband so I could look like him.”

“Thanks again,” Keith says, as they exit the store.

“No problem,” Hunk declares, sending a bright grin at Keith.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Allura sits cross-legged on top of the Blue Lion, the space mice beside her. She’s gazing into the sunset, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

“Man,” Lance pants, “you can be a real hard person to find when you wanna be.”

“Hey, Lance—whoa!” Allura says, whipping her head around to stare at Lance. “What are you wearing?”

Lance stands, frowning, in the improvised Altean garb Coran had made him wear—a cape, a belt full of tools, two pots on his shoulders, a pail on his head, and a string of sausages around his neck like an ugly scarf. He sighs. “Coran made it for me for my date with Keith.”

Allura is still staring at him. Her eyes widen, and she grins. “It’s been ten thousand deca-phoebs since I’ve seen Altean traditional garb. And a date with Keith! You finally asked him?” 

“Yeah,” Lance says. He sits down beside her, a pot and ladle strewn across his lap.

Allura frowns. “Then why do you look so sad?”

Lance frowns, pulling the pail off his head and setting it down beside him. He can feel Blue’s presence in the back of his mind, smooth and cool like running water. “I just—it could be our last. It probably will be our last. I can’t keep all these Altean customs straight.”

To Lance’s surprise, Allura snickers. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Only Coran bothers with those old rules.” When she sees his serious expression, she sobers. “Listen, if he’s going on a date with you, it’s because he likes you.” She smirks at him. “The irritating, stubborn,  _ Earth _ version of you.”

Lance laughs. “You watching the sun set?”

“Yes. It’s a lot like Altea’s. I enjoy watching it. It might be a while before we get to see it again.”

“Man, I’m really gonna miss this place.”

“That’s why we have to end this war,” Allura says, still staring into the sunset. “And we’re going to do it with the Lance that’s the paladin of the Red Lion. The Lance who always supports his friends.” She smiles. “And the Lance who knows exactly who he is and what he has to offer.” She turns to him and grins.

Lance stares at her blankly for a moment, then smiles too.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

Keith paces the room, stomach churning. “I have no fucking idea how to do this, Shiro,” he says, turning and pacing some more.

“Stop fidgeting,” Adam scolds, from his place in the hospital bed. “You’ll be fine. From what Takashi has told me, you’ve both been crushing on each other since the beginning of time, so things can only go up.”

“But I’m—I just don’t know how to fucking do this,” Keith sighs.

“Language,” Krolia chastises. “You’ll do great. Just show up, eat, then kiss Lance. Simple.”

“Uuuugggghh,” Keith groans, falling backwards onto Adam’s bed. “I came here for reassurance, guys.  _ Reassurance _ .”

“Reassurance is boring,” Adam says, nudging him with his foot from beneath the covers. It’s the metal foot, so Keith sits up and starts pacing again.

Adam has been getting better quickly—he’d been in pretty sucky condition when they’d found him in the Galra prison, with scar tissue all over the left side of his body—the side that had taken the blast—and Galra prosthetics replacing his left arm and left leg, which had been blown off in the explosion of his fighter plane. He’d had a tearful reunion with Shiro, and now they’re just as disgustingly in love as they’d been before Kerberos, which Keith finds equally vomit-inducing and nice.

There’s a knock on the door. It slides open, revealing Allura and Romelle. Allura is armed with a hair tie, a determined expression on her face.

“Keith, you need to fix your hair,” she scolds.

Keith lifts one hand to brush through his hair, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he asks. 

From behind him, Adam snorts.

“It’s  _ messy, _ ” Romelle says, with the same tone someone might say  _ It has space fleas. _ “You should put it up.”

Keith stares at her. “What?” he finally manages to say.

Allura sighs, shaking her head. Adam and Shiro both seem to find this incredibly funny. “Come here,” she says, gesturing toward herself. Keith blinks and walks toward her. 

It feels strangely nice as Allura bunches all his hair up and wrestles the tie around it. It’s a low ponytail, still brushing his shoulders but now somewhat tamed. Romelle gives a satisfied nod. “Better.”

Allura gives him a playful shove toward the door. “Now go!” she exclaims. “You’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻

When Keith slides off his hoverbike in front of Lance’s family’s house, he does not expect to be attacked by two tiny hurricanes.

Sylvio and Nadia—Lance’s niece and nephew, if Keith is remembering right, though the only memory he has of them is a blurred one of Lance saying “Let’s get this workaholic to bed, team,” and each kid taking one of Keith’s wrists to lead him out of the control room, both giggling—attack him from either side. 

“Hi, Keith!” Sylvio says, grinning up at him. From Keith’s other side, Nadia does too. Nadia is missing both of her front teeth, and they both have the freckles that remind Keith so much of Lance. “You’re dating Tio Lance now! So now we can call you Tio Keith!”

Keith swallows. “We’re not dating,” he says, though he’s smiling. It’s hard to frown when Lance’s family is so cute. 

They take him by the wrists and lead him to the door, where Lance’s mother stands, leaning against the doorframe. She gives him a soft smile—there are laugh wrinkles around her eyes and worry wrinkles in her forehead. “Keith! Come in! Lancito will be down here in a moment.” She has a heavy Spanish accent that somehow makes her words softer, more genuine. She turns and yells up the stairs, “ _ Leandro! _ Get down here, Keith’s arrived!” 

Keith steps into the threshold as Sylvio and Nadia race off, giggling. The house is only temporary, until they can move back to Cuba (which, miraculously, hadn’t been damaged much during the Galra’s reign over Earth) but it’s already filled with personality. It feels like Lance’s family, if that makes sense, all happiness and brightness and  _ home. _

Lance is stepping down the stairs. When he sees Keith, he freezes, mouth opening. “Wow,” he says, and Keith’s stomach jerks with his voice, deep and breathless. “You look amazing.”

Keith flushes, staring at the ground. This is because of both Lance’s voice and also how Lance looks, his hair curly and his brown eyes bright, wearing a gray-and-white sweater over a blue collared shirt and black jeans. “You—you look nice too,” he manages, and mentally curses himself for being so—well, being so him. 

Lance chuckles. “Well, it’s no Altean vestments, but it’ll do.”

Keith finally looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Altean vestments. I’m guessing something weird to do with Coran?”

Lance grins and hum his affirmative. “This is my  mami, Rosa, this” —he gestures to a man who’s practically a taller, broader, more wrinkled Lance—“is my papi, Mateo, my abuelita, you know Veronica. That’s Rachel, my brother Marco, other brother Luis, and his wife Lisa. You probably know Sylvio and Nadia too.” 

Keith awkwardly waves at them, and then Lance is taking him by the forearm and leading him to a long dining table.

Dinner passes easily—Lance’s family makes, quite possibly, some of the best food Keith has ever eaten, and there’s apparently never a dull moment when it comes to Lance’s past. 

“Or the time when we were kids and Veronica mixed dirt with water and told Lance it was chocolate milk,” Marco says, grinning. Everyone is laughing, except for Lance, who has his arms crossed, a frown creasing his face.

“Oh, yeah!” Veronica exclaims, grinning. “I still can’t believe he fell for it.”

Keith laughs. It feels so oddly natural to be with Lance’s family, to talk excitedly with these bright, beaming people and talk about anything and everything. “What did he do?”

“He told on me, of course,” Veronica says, leaning so she can get a better look at Keith. “Then Papi gave  _ him _ ice cream and I got  _ none. _ ”

“Yeah, Lance was always the baby of the family,” Luis says, smiling. “It took you coming to dinner to graduate him to the adult table.”

From the tiny kids’ table, Rachel shoots them a glare.

“Speaking of dates, maybe you could put in a good word for me with that short-haired friend of yours, hmm?” Veronica adds, smirking as she looks at Keith. 

Lance look confused, his grumpy indignation with his family momentarily forgotten, but Keith understands what she’s saying immediately. After all, Acxa had been the one to drop on the couch in Keith’s room and scream into a pillow for five solid minutes after a single compliment from Veronica. Keith smirks at her. “Oh, Acxa is single,” he says. “ _ Very _ single.”

Veronica flushes. “I didn’t mean—that wasn’t—” she sputters, then gives up, staring determinedly at the table. 

While Lance is occupied with teasing Veronica, his mother leans toward Keith. “Lance never brings people home,” she says, smiling. “You must really mean something to him.”

Keith flushes and decides to deflect the question, lest he spontaneously combust. “That’s weird. Lance always seemed like he was pretty popular with—you know, girls.”

“Oh, he gets that from his papi. It’s all talk,” she says. “But if you can get past that, you’ll find a good boy with a big heart.”

“A toast,” Veronica says, unintentionally interrupting Keith’s conversation with Rosa. “To family. Though we may be apart after tomorrow, we’ll always remain close at heart. Family,” Veronica says, “is forever.”

“To family!” everyone choruses, bright, beaming, happy voices. Keith watches Lance’s face, so soft in the midst of all these people he loves, and comes to a decision; he will get Lance back to these people. Because he already loves them, and he’s only known them for the better part of an hour.

Keith used to hear these chants— _ To family! _ —and frown, look away, draw back. But now—now he smiles, and raises his glass, and says, “To family!” To Krolia, and Shiro, and Adam, and all the others. 

And to Lance.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

The moon shines bright above them, full amid thousands of twinkling stars. Oak branches form a sort of half-tunnel through the park only a block away from Lance’s house. The moonlight highlights Lance’s face, so silvery and bright and freckled that Keith has to look away before he’s blinded.

Crickets chirp as they walk along the wide cobblestone path. Lance has his hands in his pockets, and Keith stares straight ahead, taking in every detail of the park.

Eventually, they come to a stop in front of a huge oak tree.

Lance voice, when he speaks, is pained, rough and sorrowful. “This place… it used to be so beautiful.”

Keith is—not sure what to do. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, then says, in a kind of half-assed attempt to lighten the mood, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I hate my species.”

And—fuck. Because Lance turns to him, and his eyes are wide and earnest. “No, no, don’t—it’s not your fault, I just—oh.” Lance’s mouth opens. “You were trying to be funny.” He halfheartedly smacks at Keith’s forearm. “That wasn’t funny, asshole!”

Keith twists his mouth, trying to think of something to say, because now Lance looks sad again. Lance should never look like this, like his very existence causes him pain, like he doesn’t matter in the world. “It’s still beautiful,” Keith says, turning to the tree and placing a palm on the thick trunk. “Just because it’s damaged doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth crooks upward in a sort of half-smile. “Keith,” he says, “were you just talking about yourself, or the tree?”

“All of us, to be honest,” Keith says. He still has his hand on the tree; like this, he can feel the rough bark, brown and alive. “We’re all pretty damaged.”

“Like I said,” Lance says, “you are  _ not _ funny.” 

Keith continues, because he needs to make Lance feel better, make Lance feel like he can do anything, because he  _ can. _ He can, and he should know it. “You know, Lance… when we were out there, fighting the Galra, I felt like—like we were a family. We were all alone, but we were alone together. I relied on all of you. You guys were my strength. You,” Keith says, finally turning to look at Lance, “are my strength.”

“Keith,” Lance says. He somehow manages to look incredulous and in awe and serious all at the same time. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. And if I have anything to say about it, you’ll never be alone. I—I don’t care if this is only our first—whatever it is, first date or something, I...” Lance stares straight at him, and Keith is stunned by what he sees, by the bright brown of his eyes and the glitter of moonlight in his irises. “Keith, I love you. I have for a long time. I wanna be your family. Earth can be your home, or—or anywhere you wanna go. It doesn’t matter. I would follow you across the universe.”

“You…” Keith trails off. “You really feel that way?”

Lance takes Keith’s hand, holds it up between the two of them, laces his fingers with Keith’s. His hand is bigger than Keith’s and so warm, and the breath is caught in Keith’s throat as he stares at Lance. “I do,” Lance says. 

Keith’s eyes are wide, and then he’s leaning in, standing slightly on his tiptoes (Lance has gotten a good three inches taller than him in the time they’ve been on Earth, which is just as endearing as it is irritating). Lance’s hand—the one not holding Keith’s—comes up to cup Keith’s cheek, and slowly, softly, Keith presses his lips to Lance’s, snaking his arm around his neck.

It’s soft, and slow, so slow Keith has time to really let it set it: he is kissing Lance. He is  _ kissing Lance. _ He is actually kissing Lance, and Lance is kissing him back.

After a few moments or a few hours—Keith isn’t sure which—Keith draws back, fingers still laced with Lance’s. “I love you,” Keith says, trying out the words in his mouth. They feel strange—so strange—but right, so right.

Lance beams at him, eyes shining. “I love you too,” he says, and then he’s leaning forward, peppering kisses all over Keith’s face, cheeks and eyelids and forehead and nose, and Keith is laughing, hands on Lance’s chest.

The bushes rustle, and Keith and Lance spring apart. Beezer comes out, screen flashing with a smiling face.

"Wow," Keith says. "Why are you here?" 

"Probably Pidge and Hunk's way of spying on us," Lance says, grinning. 

Beezer shuffles forward and gives a few happy clicks and squeals. He flashes another happy face on his screen.

Lance chuckles. “I think he wants us to smile.”

Lance puts his arm around Keith, and Keith, for once, doesn’t have to make an effort to smile. His happiness is bright and beaming and almost effervescent as he slides an arm around Lance’s waist and leans his head on his shoulder.

Beezer powers up, and a camera shutter clicks, a bright flash of light momentarily blinding Keith and Lance. The picture slides out of a slot in Beezer’s robotic body, and he plucks it up with a metal claw and offers it to Keith.

“It’s perfect,” Lance says, quietly, staring at it.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “It is.”

They walk back along the path, fingers twined together. Keith’s chest and stomach and veins are filled with a rush of warmth, fiery happiness as bright as the moonlight above them.

The world will throw what it will at Lance and Keith. It already has. But Keith would follow Lance across the universe, and Lance would do the same for him; so it will be okay. It’s more than okay.

It’s wonderful.


End file.
